


Linux: Irritating Prat.

by lia_bezdomny



Series: The Squirrel and his Goldfish. [2]
Category: Mystrade - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Greg is so done... but not really, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mystrade is everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lia_bezdomny/pseuds/lia_bezdomny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg go on their date. After some light-hearted banter, the elder Holmes is suddenly miffed and Greg is not going to put up with it. </p><p>The follow up to "The Squirrel Analogy".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Linux: Irritating Prat.

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested/Inspired/Requested by sher_locked_22:  
> "I think that you could write something about a dinner with them. Maybe have them being a bit sassy with each other, and something happens to offend Mycroft. He normally doesn't get offended, so it would have to be SOMETHING important. Plus, he's not good at reading other people's emotions, so maybe something along those lines."  
> Bam, here you go.

Greg is ready about five minutes before Mycroft is suppose to pick him up. He still doesn't believe that he will actually go throw with the whole date _thing_. It was Mycroft after all. Maybe there was a war going on in a nation he'd never even heard of. Or he simply lost interest, after Greg didn't put up a fight. Whatever, he had an alternative plan: A game on the telly and half a pizza from yesterday. He had worse evenings.

Precisely at eight o'clock, there's a knock and Mycroft, instead of one of his Amazon bodyguards stands on the other side of the door. Of course he looks great in his dark navy suit and that makes Greg feels thoroughly underdressed.

“Hello, Mycroft.” “Good evening, Gregory. Are you ready to go?”

“What, no flowers? No remarks on how lovely I look?” The elder Holmes slaps the back of his hand dramatically against his forehead and sighs.

“Where are my manners? You look ravishing in your court suit.”

“Thank you. And yes, I'm ready. For whatever this is.” “I like your enthusiasm.”

***

Of course, the restaurant, Mycroft picked had three Michelin stars. He wasn't really expecting a simple curry house or a kebab shop.

“A French restaurant? Don't you think this is a little clichéd, Mycroft?” “Not at all. The food is excellent and you do speak the language.”

_If two years of copying the homework of the kid next to him and writing the grammar rules on his arms for the test count… Yeah, sure, he was fluent._

“And how do you know that… Why am I asking? Did you also pull my medical files by any chance? I had a physical last week. Do I have something to worry about?”“Let's not use up all of our conversation materials right away. I say, we should save some topics for after the first course.”

“Fine by me. But if I should avoid certain foods, you'll let me know. Agreed?” “Then I would strongly suggest that you stay away from the pastries.”

“Because of the Gluten?” Now he is worried. Even though it was quite stereotypical for a cop, he did enjoy his doughnuts.

“No, the carbohydrates. Combined with all that sitting around behind your desk, you know.” “I do play football three times a week, so I think my waistline can deal with a few pieces of pastries.”

“If you say so, Gregory.” Mycroft gives him a smug look and takes a sip from his wine. Fifteen minutes into the date, and he has already been called fat. And again, he had worse nights.

 

“By the way, did you finally found that protocol you were looking for?” Greg was on his third glass of wine and Mycroft seemed to loosen up, at least a little bit. The smirks became less sarcastic and more genuine. But he still wasn't sure what to make of this whole situation.

“Unfortunately, I didn't. So I thought I just do it the old-fashioned way: Dinner, light conversation and no expectations.” “I'm glad you didn't say low ones.”

“Please Gregory, don't use humour to mask your self-deprecation. That is dull and I do not indulge in dreary affairs. You've somehow managed to keep my brother on track, while dealing with his moods. That alone makes me very interested in you. And when I was sure, that you are not using Sherlock to advance your career, I allowed myself to appreciate your other qualities. Internal and external.”

“Is this your way of telling me that you think I'm handsome?” Mycroft rolls his eyes at that.

“Dull, inspector.” “Hot blokes don't need to be smart and all that. Because they are hot.” And now they both smile at each other and of course that is the exact moment, when Mycroft's phone rings.

“Let me guess, this is your safety call? In case the date is bad, you have one of your terrifying secretaries phone you and claim, it is an emergency?” “You've actually done that?” “Once or twice.” _57 times, but who is counting?_

“This is a line only one person uses. So I have to take this.” “Is it the Queen?” Mycroft gets up and gives him an annoyed look.

“I'm not authorised to disclose this information.” “It is the Queen.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” “Tell her majesty I said: _What's up_.” If he had a pound for everyone of Mycroft's eyerolls… He could probably afford to eat at this place without being invited by the real head of the British government.

 

“Greg?”

He turns his head at the sound of the familiar voice and sees Dan Stevens standing next to him. Of all the high class restaurants in all of London, his friend with benefits had to show up in this one. Just his luck.

“Hello, Dan. How are you?” The man grabs a chair and sits down.

“I'm fine, you're department keeps me busy but that is the way I like it.” “I remember.” Apparently, Dan has no desire to leave anytime soon, because he continues to talk.

“So, who's that tall bloke in the expensive suit? Business or pleasure?” “A little of both.”

“Ah. He looks important. Barrister?” “God no. And no offence and all that.”  
“None taken. We are all bastards and full of ourselves. It is the robe and the wig.” Greg has to laugh at that, he can't help himself.

“Yes, that has to be it.” “Well, then I'm not going to waste your time any longer. Because your date looks a little miffed.” He points to the other end of the dining room where Mycroft stands and watches them. And he really looks miffed. 

“Take care, Greg. And you know if things don't work out: You have my number.” “Bye, Dan.” When he is out of sight, Mycroft walks over and takes his seat.

 

“Who was that?” “Dan. We are friends.” Mycroft puts the napkin back onto his lap and looks like a bloodhound, that just catched the scent of a rabbit.

“Is that so? Like you and me perhaps?” “Not really. I can remember _our_ nights.” The lame joke hasn't even left his mouth properly, and he already knows that it was the wrong thing to say.

“I see. And when was the last time, you remembered those nights?” This was not harmless banter. That was an interrogation. Maybe Mycroft really was a lawyer. Or a massive fan of “Law and Order”. Whatever it was, it starts to irritate Greg.

“Last month, I guess.” “So now you are guessing. Is is it that hard to keep track?” There is venom in his words and a not very subtle accusation.

“What are you saying, Mycroft?” “I'm saying nothing. I'm just here, enjoying my dinner.” Now Greg is really pissed off. He didn't chase after that stuck up bastard, Mycroft insisted on this fucking date in the first place.

“If you don't tell me, what's gotten into you, I'm leaving.” “I don't think what's gotten into _me_ is the problem here.”

Greg pats his pockets for his wallet, takes out 50 pounds and throws them onto the table. He is very aware of the fact, that this would probably not even cover his starter but it was more about the gesture.

“Va te faire foutre, Mycroft. And no, don't excuse my French.” And then he gets up and walks out of the restaurant and tries to flag down a cab.

When he realises, that he'd just spent his last cash on making a statement, his mood gets even darker because that meant, he had to walk home.

"Thanks for the nice evening, you colosal arsehole..." He mumbles to himself and sincerly hopes, Mycroft chokes on his tongue. Or a chicken leg. After crossing two streets a car pulls up next to him and Mycroft's head peaks out.

“Gregory, g...” Before he can even finish his sentence, Greg is in the backseat. “Well, that was...” He silences him with his held up hand.

“Save it. I live almost on the other end of London, it is cold, I am hungry and in no mood to walk. An after this shit evening, you owe me at least a ride home.” Mycroft, of course, cannot let it go and tries to continue.

“I would...” “And I'm also not interested in anything you have to say at this point.” That finally shuts Mycroft up. Good. Greg was one sylable away from jamming his stupid umbrella down his throat.

***

Five minutes into their awkward silence, Greg has calmed down enough to say what he has to say:

“You asked me out in the first place. I would have been fine with us just ignoring this whole thing.” “So, why did you agree?” Mycroft sounds genuinely curious.

“I don't know. I kind of fancied you. Well, from afar, since you've rarely talked to me. And that morning, you were all flustered and out of your element, and it was adorable.” “Adorable. You found me… I am not a kitten, Gregory.”

“I see you more as a squirrel.” “Then I'd rather be a cat than a rodent.”

“It is my analogy, I pick the animal.” Mycroft sighs and looks at his hands.

“As I told you, I do not do these hook-up things.” “Well, I do. And that doesn't make me… Whatever Victorian era insult you've got filed away in that stuck-up brain of yours.”

“I apologise.” “What?” _Was he losing his grasp on the English language again? That joke was getting old._

“I apologise for insulting you. That wasn't my intention. I just… This is new to me. I rarely have any interest in other people and I might have assumed that you… It was foolish.” He has no idea what the elder Holmes is trying to get across with this explanation.

“Mycroft, did you think that I never had sex?” That was as good as any other guess at the moment. 

“No, I am aware of your daughter and ex-wife. But I might have been under the impression that you have been in this relationship as long as I have.” Greg knows that he now really looks like a goldfish, but Mycroft's words make absolutely no sense. Until he applies the younger Holmes brother's logic to the elder:

“So you were basically calling me a whore back there, because in your mind, we are already in a relationship for some time and you just forgot to tell me?” “I might have.” _Look at that, Mycroft and Sherlock run on the same operating system:_ _Linux, irritating prat_. 

“You are such an idiot.” But there is no real annoyance in his words, he is just tired and still hungry.

“Pull up here. We're going to get something to eat and then we'll take a few steps back and try to salvage… Whatever this is.” “But I thought...” Greg's hand goes up again.

“If we are going to do this, there are some rules:

Say what you have to say and don't give me your passive-aggressive spiel. I'm 39, that's 75 in gay years. I don't have the energy or patience to play games. So, are you in or out?” Mycroft looks at him for a split second before smirking and saying:

“In.” “Good choice, I'm amazing. Now go out there and get me a kebab.”

“Kebab?” There is actual disgust in Mycroft's voice.

“Rule number two: Keep me fed. And if you behave, I'm going to tell you the most important rule to keep me happy.”


End file.
